Nothing Is Unbreakable: Part Two
by RedWritingRebel
Summary: Pt 2 of NIU. Raphael has been missing for too long. One look at Splinter confirms this. Months of searching, however, has finally given way to a lead. The brothers will stop at nothing to save their lost sibling from Shredder's wrath, even if it means unspeakable sacrifice. Old and new enemies alike stand between the survival of the Hamato clan... or it's very and final collapse.


**Disclaimer: Turtles aren't even allowed in my apartment... so no, sadly I do not own these lovely guys.**

 **A/N: Hello! And welcome to Part Two of Nothing Is Unbreakable. ^_^ If you are new to Nothing is Unbreakable, then you can find part one on this website with this extension:** ** _/s/8375929/1/Nothing-Is-Unbreakable_ ...** **You can also find it, and my other stories, in my profile. If you'd rather not read the monster which is part one, then shoot me a PM and I will do my best to provide you with a summary rich in spoilers.**

 **For anyone who has already read part one, there is an epilogue that has been posted :)**

 **Story Rating: T ( it might be raised to M for two scenes... I do not know yet. But I will keep you posted and always provide warnings at the start of the chapters!)**

 **Music Inspiration: Breaking Benjamin**

 **Warnings: None**

 **Word count: 530**

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 **Prologue**

 **Bleed Slow**

 **Date: March 26; Time: 10:37 PM; POV: Leonardo**

Donatello's attention is torn. He leans over my arm, inspecting the slow drip of blood from the infected skin. I didn't have time to gather new medical supplies to treat the bullet wound myself; catching the next plane out of South America was far more important. Now, sitting under the too bright lights of the infirmary, I wish I had. My brother's eyes shift to the left, to the logbook I stole from that real life mad scientist. He licks his lips, nervous. Sweat steals down his face.

"What are you thinking, Don?"

He rolls backwards at my question. "Besides how stupid you are for not cleaning this wound hours ago?" He douses a rag in rubbing alcohol. "Or how you're as stubborn as Raphael is for not calling us—" He inhales sharply, shakes his head, and swabs the visible dirt and pus away.

I half smile. For the first time in a long time, Don applied present tense to Raphael's life. It's a start. A good start. "About what I told you, Don, what do you think?"

"The bullet is lodged close to your bicep. You're lucky it didn't destroy anything more than soft tissue. Very lucky."

I watch him maneuver surgical tweezers into the depths of my skin. His lips tremble, but his hand stays steady, deft in their movements. "Not that. About Raphael. What do you think?" The bullet clinks into a dish. For a moment, the sound echoes dully through the room. I hear months of arguments between Donatello and myself ring back in my ears as the sound dies away. When my brother disinfects the wound, I feel more than just the sting of alcohol; the burn of shame and distance, too, sings up my nerves.

"You're positive you saw him?"

I nod. "It was him. He was… different, but there."

"Different," Don repeats, almost scoffing. "50 days with the Shredder will do that to anyone. Even Raph. You said he didn't answer you when you called for him, right." It's not a question.

"I couldn't see his mouth," I say, "or his hands. If he wasn't… wasn't chained and gagged, then there's also the possibility he was unconscious."

"Or drugged."

"Or—" Donatello pinches his brows. We share the unspoken thought in twin breaths: or incapable of calling back. We already know he was tortured. I can't push the thought of Shredder cutting his tongue out from my mind. "I just know that it was Raph."

My brother unravels a roll of bandages, and I can see in his doe eyes the turmoil, the questions, the analysis. "I believe you," he says, and the words soften my shoulders. "I've always wanted to believe you… it's just with Splinter, and now Mikey."

"This will be good for them."

He tips his head forwards, so low that his forehead meets my elbow. There's a quiver in his exhale, a dampness to his mask that makes me squeeze his shoulder. He leans out of my grasp before another word can be spoken. With a hard sniff and bite of a knuckle, he asks, "so what's the plan?"

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 **A/N: Thank you for reading! I don't know when I'll be posting an update, as I am a full-time college student with a job (whew!), but I hope to be timely with things. Comments, questions, concerns? Leave them in that lovely little box. I love to hear from fellow fans :)**

 **Cheers! Your Red Writing Rebel**


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